


Nothing Lasts Forever

by HoddieMaine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Astronauts, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Outer Space, VAST, Vast Zine, stranded in space, written for Vast Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 17:42:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoddieMaine/pseuds/HoddieMaine
Summary: It’s frustrating.To be a finite thing in an infinite space.Frustrating to realize your engines are failing you, in the same way a cancerous organ might. Either way, you’re dying.





	Nothing Lasts Forever

It’s frustrating.

To be a finite thing in an infinite space.

Frustrating to realize your engines are failing you, in the same way a cancerous organ might. Either way, you’re dying.

With the passing of days, however, the frustration ebbed into a begrudging acceptance. Stages of grief and all that, the pilot mused, unable to keep count of how many times the last of the water pouches had been counted. The pilot counted them again anyway. Muscles move on memory as thoughts and imaginings pass like the distant stars.

Mom would chew me up one side and down the other for travelling alone. My flight instructor would probably join her. Just a litany of verbal assaults about how I should have or shouldn’t have…

An errant tear escaped, hushed sniffles filling the too quiet space. The thoughts didn’t ring true, but who wanted to picture their mother mourning? That slow pull of a bandaid, when waiting for the ship to return becomes mourning. The pilot shoved the rest of the water packs into their container and slinked to the stiff captain’s seat at the front of the vessel. The small ship slowly rotated until the dwarf planet that had them in its gravitational pull eked into view. Sometimes, to pass the hours, the pilot pretended to be a bright and lustrous moon, keeping watch over the planet. Maybe the inhabitants, if there were any, were looking up in wonder and equating the beauty and light that they saw there with love.

The pilot could remember feeling that way, face turned towards the heavens.

Space travel had always been the dream. All the teenage coming of age movies tucked away in a box under the bed back home, characters startripping across the galaxy, culminating in finding themselves amongst the stars. Cheesy sure, but no less important.

The slow revolution had the planet setting on the horizon of the ship’s dash. The pilot breathed a heavy sigh. The end of their world concluding in a slow stretch of boredom, how cruel a fate. They sunk further into the chair.

A red light blipped on the dash.

The chair creaked with the sudden jolt of motion. The pilot’s fingers danced across buttons. Several displays flashed into existence, that traitorous glimmer of hope disappearing with the words

AIR SUPPLY LOW

“No,” the Pilot croaked.

The food should’ve lasted several more cycles. The water, not nearly as long, but enough to live just a little longer. Long enough for the search party they still secretly hoped might turn up, but now- now was a matter of moments. A matter of breaths.

The pilot wanted to live.

In a flurry of motion, accepting fate was abandoned. Rage, rage against the dying of the light- The old words of a school lesson, nearly forgotten, burned through the pilot’s head.

Boots beat across the familiar floors of the ship. The Pilot checks for backup air supplies.

Nothing.

White knuckle fingers jab every sensor pad as they make their way through the ship. Maybe the remaining oxygen can be siphoned into one area. The vwump of the automatic doors a mocking noise echoing behind the pilot as they sprint.

The pilot screeches to a halt, attempting to train their breathing. They can’t waste a single lungful. With shaking knees, they head to the stash of space suits.

It’s been a couple months since inspection. They only every really need the one suit anyway, the others older than they should be for passing. Their canisters are empty.

The newest suit, still a hand-me-down, hangs lifelessly in the locker. There’s air in there, the pilot knows. It had been used when the engines first gave up. But how much was left, they couldn’t say.

With trembling hands, the Pilot turns the suit. The light catches on the air supply meter. There’s a quarter tank. Not much, but still a small relief.

Their breath is already becoming labored. The smalls huffs only drowned out by panic and determination. They press the panel for the control room, but stop in the doorway.

The room is flashing red. The displays show a small leak in the hull, and the pilot knows that it’s unlikely they’ll be able to pull any additional air into this room.

The suit is heavy as the Pilot steps into it. Much heavier than it’s ever been. The helmet latches. The suit pressurizes. With a sharp pain, the Pilot takes their first full breath.

Not for the first time, the Pilot sends out the standardized SOS signal, checking to make sure it repeats. The bulky suit makes it difficult to move around the small room, and impossible to sit in the chair. No point in staying locked in here if the air can’t be contained anyway.

With slow movements, the Pilot wanders through the ship. The air supply meter had already dropped significantly. They collect a small photo of their family from the sleeping quarters. Their brother’s borrowed music player. Their mother’s rosary that she always managed to sneak into their bag.

The small planet peeked into view just beyond the airlock doors. The suit beeped a warning. With ragged breaths, the Pilot pushed away from the ship. If they were going to die, they wanted to greet the stars face to face one last time.

Their lungs hurt as they looked across the glittering expanse before them. A small glint on the horizon caught their eye as they slowly drifted. Maybe it’s my rescue, the Pilot mused. They took the last lungful of air, white lights popping behind their closed eyes. They thought of one of the songs on the device in the suit’s pocket- one their grandfather had loved. A song from way before even his time, tinny and distorted as it played from technology it was never meant for.

Nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky  
It slips away  
And all your money won't another minute buy  
Dust in the windAll we are is-


End file.
